


Fearless

by Pippiuscattius



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Airplanes, Angelic Grace, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Aviophobia, Castiel Comforts Dean, Comforting Castiel, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Anxiety, Dean has a Fear of Flying, Fear of Flying, Fluff, Grace Sharing, Holding Hands, M/M, Protective Castiel, Scared Dean Winchester, Sleepy Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippiuscattius/pseuds/Pippiuscattius
Summary: Faced with an unpredictable demon crisscrossing the country at impossible rates, Sam, Dean, and a mostly graceless Castiel are left with no choice but to fly on an airplane to finish the case. Dean is of course not even remotely okay with this, even if he tries to pretend otherwise, but luckily for him he may find much-needed comfort from an unexpected source.





	Fearless

Dean Winchester liked to think he was fearless. Of course, that wasn’t true; no one can truly be fearless. But regardless Dean felt more justified than most in making that claim, and with the supernatural horrors he faced on an almost daily basis, few people would argue. Ghosts? Nothing to be scared of. Demons? No biggie. Werewolves? Piece of cake.

Airplanes on the other hand? Hell no. Those winged metal monstrosities scared Dean more than any actual monster ever could.

That’s why he couldn’t stop tapping his foot to the tune of his out-of-control nerves in the middle of this airport. How on earth did he let Sam talk him into doing this? With those puppy dog eyes and irrefutable logic, that’s how. As much as Dean stubbornly wanted to deny it, he knew Sam was right when he said they had no choice but to fly on an airplane for their current case.

The circumstances of this particular case were…unique, to say the least. The brothers had been tracking a series of suspiciously similar deaths in seemingly non-related places across the country. They were able to determine they were being carried out by a demon; a restless demon, it seemed, based on its spontaneous movements from one random state to another. Picking up on the pattern in the first place was hard enough as it was, but deciphering and predicting the pattern proved impossible. Catching this demon and putting a stop to its killing spree would have likely been impossible had the Winchesters not called in Castiel for help.

Castiel was able to pick up the demon’s trace with what little remained of his angelic powers, pinpointing it in California. Once they knew for certain where the demon was going to be, they had an opportunity to end its rampage once and for all; provided they could get from their current location, North Carolina, to California in under six hours, that is. This is where the inevitable flying came into play. It was the only way they could make it across the country in time to hunt down the demon before it killed again and fled to another random location. Had Castiel retained his high-level angel powers, he could have simply teleported them to California, but his “fall from grace” rendered his teleportation unusable. As much as Dean hated being teleported around, he would gladly do that any day rather than fly in a godforsaken airplane again.

Dean tried to think calming thoughts when a scratchy voice came over the intercom system, announcing his flight’s boarding. He’d be fine; this first flight was only supposed to last forty or so minutes. Surely he could hold it together for at least that long?

Then again, immediately after this flight he’d have to endure a four-hour long flight from Georgia to California. Why did they have to split up the flights? Why couldn’t he just get it over with in one sitting and be done with it? This was becoming far more of an ordeal than Dean thought necessary.

Sam sent Dean a look of reassurance over his shoulder while the pair waited in line to get their boarding passes scanned. Dean simply nodded, trying to appear casual (and probably failing if the look of pity Sam gave him is anything to judge by). Sam knew better than anyone about Dean’s problems with flying, and luckily for Dean he was willing to help in his rare encounters with aircraft. As much as Sam teased him about it on the ground, in the air Sam was one of the only things that kept Dean from going into all-out-freak-out mode. Maybe it was just having someone familiar and trusted there with him, or maybe it was the calm aura Sam radiated anytime he flew, but whatever it was, having him around definitely helped with Dean’s fears and gave him stability.

Which of course meant that fate would take this opportunity to mess with that stability by assigning Sam a seat in the front of the plane and Dean a seat in the back of the plane. 

As if this situation wasn’t weird enough, there was another variable: Castiel. The weakened angel had offered his assistance to the Winchesters with their case, and with how powerful this demon had proven to be, they couldn’t afford to refuse his help. Thanks to his oh-so-helpful lack of teleportation abilities, Castiel had to fly on the plane alongside the brothers. Castiel was plenty familiar with flying, being an angel, but Dean was sure he would prefer to rely on his own wings rather than on a human contraption. Even so, he didn’t seem nervous as far as Dean could tell. The angel stood closely behind Dean, eyeing the people crowding around the boarding counter warily.

Dean looked over his ticket one more time. His assigned seat was listed as 32A, the one right beside Castiel. He wouldn’t mind sitting beside Castiel, but he’d much rather be by Sam; he knew from experience that he was guaranteed to be much calmer that way. He could only hope that whoever would be sitting by Sam would be willing to relinquish their seat and swap places.

As Dean reached the front of the line and handed the scanner his pass, he took one last look through the window at the plane he was about to step onto. In that moment, he decided he was going to make that plane his temporary enemy no. 1, at least until he encountered the second plane later. And yeah, maybe antagonizing an inanimate object was a really childish thing to do, but Dean could really care less at this point.

The trio boarded the plane, Dean managing the will to smile at a particularly attractive stewardess along the way (which unfortunately did nothing to calm his nerves). They reached row 15, where Sam’s seat was located, and Dean immediately lost hope of sitting beside his brother. The other person sitting in the row was a gruff, older businessman, the kind of person who would probably not want to inconvenience themselves by giving up their seat for anyone. Regardless, as Sam slipped into the window seat of his row, Dean asked anyways.

“’Scuse me,” Dean tried to sound polite. “Do you think maybe we could swap seats so I can sit next to my brother here? My seat’s 32A.”

The man frowned at Dean’s request, and for a few seconds Dean was sure he would refuse. But miraculously the businessman pulled his briefcase out from under the seat in front of him and rose to his feet. He shuffled down the aisle towards the back of the plane, and Dean didn’t miss the dirty look on the man’s face as he glanced back. Not that it bothered Dean; he’d managed to get a seat next to his brother, and that was more important than some disgruntled businessman giving him the evil eye. Already the panic in his stomach was starting to grow a bit weaker.

Dean sat beside Sam, momentarily forgetting that Castiel had been standing behind him, following him obediently through the plane. Only when he heard a faint groan of frustration from another passenger did he realize that the angel was holding up the line by standing in place by Dean’s row.

“Cas,” Dean addressed the angel. “Just follow him to your seat.” He pointed at the businessman, and with a curt nod Castiel continued along, much to the relief of the people waiting behind him.

With that matter taken care of, Dean tried to settle in and relax as best as he could. He had forty minutes of flying to look forward to, and the best thing he could do was prepare himself for what lay ahead. Sure, it would still be horrible, but at least he had Sam with him.

Except that, yet again, fate couldn’t even grant Dean that one little thing, because not five minutes after sitting down, the businessman returned, demanding that he get his seat back.

“Your friend back there is spouting nonsense!” the businessman could hardly contain himself. “Creepy nonsense! I’m not going to sit beside him.”

“What, Cas?” Dean tried his very best to sound nonchalant; he didn’t want to give up this seat. “He’s harmless.”

“I asked him what he was flying for, and he said that he was going to smite a _demon_!”

Dean froze. He should have known that expecting Castiel to interact normally with a civilian would be too much to ask.

“He’s, uh...” Dean’s mind raced for an excuse. “Yeah, he’s a real joker! Don’t worry, he’s not serious.”

“I asked him if he’d ever flown before and he said he had _wings_! He said he was an ‘angel of the lord!’”

“He’s-”

“He’s a nutcase and I am not going to sit with him! I want my seat back!”

_Dammit, Cas,_ Dean thought to himself. Curse that angel’s social ineptitude.

Dean knew there would be no reasoning with the man. He sighed and looked helplessly at Sam, who responded with an apologetic shrug. Begrudgingly, the hunter stood up and moved into the aisle so the man could reclaim his seat.

Dean trudged towards the back of the plane, mentally cursing Castiel’s lack of verbal filter the whole way. He eventually reached row 32, where he found Castiel seated by himself in the aisle seat.

“Dean,” Castiel acknowledged the hunter’s presence. “I tried to talk to that man, but he-”

“I know, Cas,” Dean interrupted him. He was not in the mood to discuss this, not when he was already struggling to keep down his rising panic at being separated from his brother. “Scoot over so I can sit down.”

“But…my seat is 32B. That’s this seat. This one is yours,” Castiel gestured towards the window seat.

Dean already struggled with flying enough as it was without having to sit beside a window with a bird’s-eye view. Even with the window covered it still made him nervous.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean failed to hide his frustration with the angel. “Just scoot.”

Castiel frowned slightly but did scoot, allowing Dean to slide into the cushiony seat. He buckled his seatbelt and took a deep breath in a futile attempt to regain some of the relative peace he’d had beside Sam, releasing it as a gasp when he felt the plane shudder and begin to move backwards.

Castiel looked at Dean inquisitively, but Dean didn’t return his stare. He was too busy focusing all of his energy on not freaking out to bother interacting with the angel right now.

As the plane began to taxi towards the runway, a deep rumble from just outside the window made Dean gasp again. He realized after a few seconds of sheer panic that it was just the engine starting up. Since he was sitting at the back of the plane, his row was directly beside one of the engines. That meant that throughout the flight he would clearly hear every deafening and unnerving sound from the machine. It was bad enough having to listen to the engines from a normal seat, but being directly beside them was just… _great_ , Dean sarcastically thought to himself.

One of the flight attendants began announcing safety instructions from the front of the plane, but Dean hardly paid attention to them, only catching snippets of what was being said. His heartbeat quickened at the mention of “lowered cabin pressure,” and his stomach did a flip when he heard “water landing” (even though they weren’t flying over any water, Dean was too wrapped up in his own frantic thoughts to remember that).

Dean jumped when he felt something poking into his side, looking over to discover it was Castiel handing him a safety brochure. Dean looked at him incredulously.

“Here,” Castiel said, placing the plastic brochure into Dean’s trembling hand. “They said now would be a good time to review this.”

Just barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Dean opened the packet, if only because he was sure Castiel would urge him to do so if he didn’t on his own. He could only look at its contents for a few seconds before his eye caught an image of a plane’s outline heading nose-first towards the ground.

Dean hastily shut the booklet and shoved it into the seat pocket. Regardless of its simplistic style, that picture made him feel immensely uncomfortable.

The engines revved up as the plane continued along the taxiway, and Dean yet again let out a small gasp. Castiel took notice, putting the safety pamphlet he’d been closely reading back into its pocket.

“Dean?” Castiel asked. “You seem tense. Is something wrong?”

“Kind of,” Dean conceded, realizing there was no point in trying to hide his obvious fear.

“What is it?”

“It’s just…” Dean let out a heavy sigh. “I have this…thing…about flying.”

“A thing.” Castiel pondered over this for a moment, then gave up trying to decipher Dean’s nonspecific language. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t like flying! It freaks me out, that’s all.”

“So…you have a fear of flying, then?”

“I guess you could call it that…”

“Aviophobia.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what a fear of flying is called. Aviophobia.”

“…Well, thanks Mr. Encyclopedia, but that doesn’t really help me right now.”

Castiel went silent for a moment, leaving Dean to his panicked thoughts. Then, out of the blue, he said, “Airplanes are a very safe mode of transportation.”

“Yeah, but they crash, too!” Dean responded a bit too loudly, shrinking back when a few people in neighboring seats turned to look at him.

“You have a higher chance of conceiving identical triplets than of dying in a plane crash.”

“I almost died in a plane crash once already!” Dean said, recalling his rather unpleasant encounter with a plane-crashing demon from years ago.

“…In that case, I suppose your fear has a firm basis.”

“You think?” Dean didn’t mean to sound short with Castiel, he really didn’t, but he was just internally freaking out and thinking about that one hunt on that plane from forever ago was bringing up some _really bad_ memories and _why couldn’t he be sitting with Sam right now?_

“Regardless, airplanes are a marvel of human engineering,” Castiel continued, unfazed by Dean’s saltiness. “Humans were biologically designed to live out their lives on the ground, but still they looked to the sky and dreamed of taking to the air. Not only that, they created a device that allowed them to do so and worked it into their society. It’s nothing short of amazing that humanity was able to achieve flight without wings.”

“Yeah, okay, we made a machine that flies,” Dean babbled. “That doesn’t always mean that machine _keeps_ flying.”

“I’ll admit I was somewhat apprehensive about an airplane’s ability to fly at first. I thought they looked much too heavy to get off the ground, let alone stay in the air for extended amounts of time. Their overall mass alone made it seem that they would plummet out of the sky, and that’s not counting all of the people and luggage they carry-”

“Just. Stop talking.”

“But I-”

“Stop.”

“…My apologies.”

Castiel was silent after that. Dean felt bad about cutting the angel off, but his attempts to help ease the hunter’s fears were…well, not so helpful, and Dean couldn’t bear to hear more of it. He was already struggling to keep his cool enough without someone reminding him of why he’s afraid of flying in the first place.

The plane turned onto the runway shortly after that, and by then Dean was sure his heart would beat right out of his chest. The hum of the engines increased into a roar and the plane began racing down the runway. It was too fast, _way too fast_ , and Dean found himself instinctively gripping his armrests to brace himself. His stomach lurched at the slight upward tilt of the aircraft as it prepared to leave the ground behind.

He chanced a single glance at Castiel. The angel was sitting calmly upright, looking out the window curiously at the scenery soaring past. Dean couldn’t help but be envious of Castiel’s absolute peace in the middle of this insanity.

Dean felt the plane lift off the ground, and he forcefully shut his eyes, determined not to accidentally look out the window and see the ground retreating beneath him. He could feel every little twitch of the plane, every little bump of turbulence that went past, and he hated it.

Unbeknownst to Dean, Castiel had turned his attention from the window to the faintly shivering hunter beside him. Concern was etched into the angel’s features. He had seen Dean is some very vulnerable moments in the time he’d known him, but never had he looked so helpless and utterly terrified. No doubt these were resulting symptoms of his aviophobia.

A powerful bout of turbulence jolted through the plane as it ascended through a thick layer of clouds. Although he would deny he had done this to the day he died, Dean whimpered as the aircraft shuddered in the persisting rough air.

Castiel couldn’t bear to watch this any longer. He had already tried to help Dean relax through talking with him, and since that hadn’t worked, he had to try something else.

Dean felt something on his hand and he jumped, opening his eyes. To Dean’s surprise, he saw that it was Castiel’s hand gently resting over his own.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel said. “It’s just turbulence.”

Any other time, Dean probably would have yanked his hand away, but he couldn’t deny that something about the physical contact was actually…legitimately calming. He was able to focus in on the feeling of Castiel’s hand rather than the tumultuous path the plane was on, and any distraction at this point was a welcome one.

“Yeah…” Dean said, voice still a bit shaky. “Just turbulence.”

Even after the plane emerged from the clouds, Castiel didn’t remove his hand. Although he wouldn’t say it out loud, Dean was glad that the physical contact remained. It was a genuine comfort in the middle of a very nerve-racking situation. Neither of the pair said anything for a long while, and the plane cruised along towards its destination without many more major hiccups.

The plane encountered a few more small pockets of turbulence along the way. With each unexpected bump and shake, Dean would tense up and feel a rising wave of anxiety. That wave would quickly dissipate, however, when Castiel softly squeezed his hand for reassurance. And okay, _maybe_ this was one of the less manly things Dean had partaken in, but he absolutely did not care because it was actually soothing him.

Unfortunately, the smoothness of their brief flight didn’t last forever. It was during the descent towards Atlanta that turbulence decided to return with a vengeance. Landings were already bad enough for Dean, and although Dean had experienced relatively few of them, the windy weather was quickly turning this into the worst landing of his life.

Every few seconds, the plane would drop several feet, sending Dean’s stomach straight into his skull. He clenched his teeth in a futile attempt to keep more fearful gasps from escaping, ultimately failing. Castiel, still trying to help Dean maintain calmness, was tightly gripping Dean’s hand. That was at least making the situation not as bad as it could have been, and it might have actually continued to help had the plane not decided to at one point fall about 50 feet in two seconds.

Dean thanked every force of good in the world that he had decided to keep his teeth clenched, otherwise he would have unleashed his most unmanly scream since he’d been infected with the ghost sickness. Instead, he made a strangled, anxious sound, shutting his eyes and digging his nails into the armrests. Panic overtook his mind, and all at once Castiel’s hand on his wasn’t enough to keep him from freaking out.

Castiel immediately took notice of Dean’s peaking anxiety. Just holding onto his hand wasn’t going to be sufficient anymore; he needed to do something more.  
Not entirely sure of what he was doing, Castiel removed his hand from Dean’s. Dean’s first reaction to this was to panic even more- the one comfort he’d had during this mess was suddenly just _gone_ and he wasn’t sure he could take that – but then he felt something wrapping around his shoulders and a whole new kind of feeling arose.

_Castiel had his arm wrapped around Dean’s shoulders._ Dean was so surprised that he nearly forgot he was supposed to be in the middle of panicking. He was still tensed up, but he found himself instinctively sinking into the angel’s arm and loosening his death-grip on the poor, somewhat shredded armrests. Feeling Castiel’s hand was one thing, but Castiel’s entire arm was a whole new world of comfort.

The plane dropped a few feet again, and Dean jumped a little but did not gasp as he had before. He was…calmer; not entirely serene, but much more at ease than he had been just five seconds ago. In fact, faint traces of drowsiness had wormed their way into Dean’s consciousness, slowing his erratic breathing and heartbeat to a far steadier pace.

Little did the hunter know that this was thanks to Castiel’s grace. Although it had been weakened since his fall, it still had enough power to act as a relaxant. All the angel was using was a far less potent form of his one-touch-knockout ability via minute traces of his remaining grace.

Now that he was not in a state of absolute panic, Dean opened his eyes and turned his gaze towards Castiel. A small grin of reassurance sat on the angel’s face, and no words needed to be shared between the two.

Dean was so comfortable in that moment that he’d completely forgotten the plane was landing. He was jolted forward somewhat at the impact of the plane’s wheels on the ground, and as much as he tried to lean back to return to the embrace of Castiel’s arm, the force of the plane braking was too much and he found himself stuck leaning forward with the momentum.

When at last the airplane screeched to a halt, Dean fell back into his seat. It was over, he’d survived the flight. Thanks largely in part to Castiel and his unforeseen ability to get Dean to just chill out, but he wasn’t about to share that particular anecdote with anyone anytime soon.

Unfortunately, there was still the second flight to worry about.

“Hey!” Sam greeted Dean and Castiel as they exited the plane. “Were you alright back there?” he asked Dean.

“Yeah, yeah, I survived…” Dean replied, silently praying that Castiel wouldn’t spill anything about just how he’d survived.

“Good…so um, about our next flight…” Sam pulled out the trio’s boarding passes from his backpack. “You’re sitting next to Cas again…we can try to switch the seats around, it might work this time-”

“N-no, it’s fine,” Dean answered a little too quickly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Um…you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry…I can handle it...”

Sam smirked. “Aw, you finally getting over your fear?”

“Aviophobia,” Castiel supplied.

“Yeah, that,” Dean interrupted. “I’m dealing with it.”

“Okay…” Sam said uncertainly. “If you say so.”

“I’ll be fine…” Dean mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

Yet, one hour later when Dean was seated beside Castiel in row 46 of his new temporary enemy no. 1, he felt anything but fine. This particular airplane was much larger than the last one, and somehow that made Dean even more nervous. The larger the plane, the greater chance it’ll fall out of the sky; that was the logic Dean’s subconscious had used.

“Dean?” Castiel asked from the window seat. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said.

The plane of course chose that particular moment to start moving away from the gate, eliciting one of Dean’s now-familiar gasps.

“Okay, not so fine,” Dean admitted, knowing there was no point in lying.

“Would you like for me to hold your hand again?”

Something about the abruptness of Castiel’s statement caught Dean way off guard. For one thing, it sounded vaguely like something someone would ask a child with the intent of reassuringly guiding them safely across a street, which Dean swiftly dismissed because um, he was most certainly not a child and could navigate a hypothetical crosswalk just fine on his own without anyone holding his hand, thank you very much. And for another, it was a direct verbal acknowledgement that yes, they had held hands, and yes, Dean did reap benefits from it. Not only that, but it was a service that Castiel seemed perfectly content and willing to provide again, all for the sake of Dean’s well-being and mental state. Discomfort welled in his chest as he flip-flopped the angel’s question over in his head, overthinking it into the moldable basis of a spontaneous internal crisis.

Distracted by said developing crisis, Dean wasn’t entirely conscious of his eyes’ darting movement as they instinctively sought out the angelic, magically calming hands that kickstarted his runaway train of thought. They were folded together in a neat pile in the angel’s lap, that familiar, sentimental trench coat wrinkled underneath.

It was right about then that Dean finally regained some semblance of control over that runaway train, reinstating its conductor at their post and easing on the brakes before the metaphorical locomotive derailed entirely and crashed into his already overblown crisis. He was a big boy, perfectly capable of crossing that street without a warm, gentle hand guiding him from one side to another. He may have accepted Castiel’s help before, but this time he would be strong. After all, he’d survived flights without Castiel’s help before, right? Heck, before today he hadn’t flown at all since he’d met the angel or even known that angels were a real thing that somehow actually existed in his messed-up supernatural world.

He was Dean Winchester, dammit! He’d faced off against the worst the realm of the supernatural had to offer, gone toe-to-toe with the devil himself, and even literally been through Hell (though he preferred not to think about that last one). What was a little four-hour long flight in an airplane to him? He was fearless, perhaps not entirely, but mostly, and that was what counted, he humbly concluded.

Castiel was still patiently awaiting an answer from Dean, politely allowing the hunter what was in all honesty too much time to consider his proposal. Huffing to himself with an air of confidence, Dean just shook his head.

“Nah, Cas, I can handle it,” he asserted.

Though a little surprised by Dean turning down his offer, Castiel gave a single nod of acknowledgement. “Very well, Dean. But I am here if at any time you need me.”

With that, the angel turned his stern, determined attention to the window at his side, intently watching a human on the ground waving pointed orange sticks at the taxiing plane.

Meanwhile, Dean took to staring straight ahead into the wrinkled blue fabric of the seat in front of him. The material was worn, torn in a few places and revealing a foamy yellow interior peeking out past small slashes and cuts in the cushion. That cushion was supposed to float in water, right? Or at least Dean recalled hearing a stewardess saying something about the seat cushions functioning as flotation devices in the event of a water landing-

Nope, Dean stopped that train of thought before it could reach its final destination. He was absolutely not going to think about any sort of emergency landings or crashes, not at all. He could easily reign in his thoughts and keep his cool all on his own, no comforting hand-holding required. He was still steadily walking the hypothetical crosswalk all on his own, no problem.

On that triumphant note, Dean returned to examining every detail of the seatback that was proving to be a viable and surprisingly effective distraction. The silvery stitching in its seams was faded and gray in some places, creating a patchy pattern of aged thread. How old was that thread? And for that matter, how old was the seat as a whole? Or the plane as a whole? How much did a plane’s age affect its ability to fly and stay aloft without spiraling out of control and diving nose first into the-

Uh-uh, no sir, Dean immediately put the brakes on hard for that train of thought as well. That train couldn’t reach its destination either, that destination being Nervous Station. From there it was just a short transfer and ride to All-Out Panic Station, which just so happened to be the one place Dean did not want to find himself at that particular moment. Luckily for him, he was proving to have a strong hold of control over all those loose trains of thought. He had a talent for it; seriously, he should get a job as a brain train conductor or something, it’d be a cinch.

That crosswalk was still definitely being walked, no, _strutted_ , with ease and with no outside assistance necessary.

One of the plane’s engines hummed loudly somewhere outside, making Dean tense up but thankfully not release any more of those embarrassing noises. His eyes bore into the seat with enough ferocity that he wondered if the person sitting in front of him felt themselves being watched through the layers of foam and cloth. He was resolute in not allowing his eyes to wander towards any of the numerous potentially anxiety-inducing sights around him, even if it meant locking himself in a staring contest with a chair for the next four hours. That was exactly what he was planning to do, even though it was totally not a fair game because the chair didn’t have eyes and therefore didn’t need to blink, being an inanimate object and all.

Dean was so wrapped up in his ridiculous aimless ponderings that he didn’t notice that the humming hadn’t stopped growing in intensity and had in fact amped up to a roar. Only when he felt the force of sudden motion slamming him painfully into his seat and pinning him against its aged, cushiony surface did he realize the plane was taking off.

As the plane accelerated, pushing him further and further into the squishy back of his chair, Dean’s heart just about gave out from how rapidly it started pumping. His stomach, no scratch that, his entire digestive tract lurched. Those numerous destructive trains of thought he’d so confidently held back before plowed onwards, snapping the flimsy leash he’d ensnared them with in an instant. Looks like they were going to reach their final destination after all, bypassing the transfer point of Nervous Station altogether; all aboard for All-Out Panic Station.

Heaving gasps tore past his lips as his chest contracted borderline painfully. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the entire plane to sufficiently fill his lungs. Panic manifested itself as a black hole of tightening sensation in his chest, and no, no, this was all wrong, he couldn’t be panicking, not here, not now, not with Cas right there next to him-

And that was just it. The tiny corner of his fear-driven brain that still retained coherency promptly decided to screw going it alone, screw taking on the crosswalk independently, and screw hiding behind his pride from his fear of simple physical affections that could be read as something more than they appeared.

“Dean?” a familiar, worried voice broke through the haze of panic that had all but consumed Dean’s headspace. “What’s happening to you?”

“Cas, listen, I-” a string of gasps interrupted Dean as the plane officially lost contact with the ground, faintly swaying as it took to the air. He frantically tried to form a sensible sentence. “I need, I need you- to-”

“What? What is it, Dean?” the underlying tone of fear in Castiel’s voice stoked a simmering guilt in Dean, which he forcibly shoved down.

“Just- just-” Dean could barely bring himself to look up at the angel’s concerned face. “Do th-the thing!”

“The thing?” Castiel was again befuddled by Dean’s nonspecific language, his thoughts racing to interpret its meaning for the afflicted hunter’s sake. “What thing? I don’t-”

_“Hold my freaking hand, dammit!”_

Dean silently prayed to Castiel’s father that the drone of the plane’s engines had been loud enough to drown out what he’d said so that none of the other passengers heard him, because wow he could barely believe that those words had just left his mouth.

There wasn’t time for Dean to cling to his embarrassment, not when he was in an all-out panic, and certainly not when Castiel reached up and took his hand in his own without hesitation. The effect was instantaneous, a glowing warmth emanating from his trembling hand and travelling up his arm and into his chaotic, constricting core. The physical sensations of his panic dulled as his mind was lulled into a wispy but calm state. He let himself bask in the feeling of instant freedom from that overriding, all-consuming fear, his hand shifting of its own accord and twisting around to entwine his fingers in Castiel’s, forming a dependent lock. The angel’s hand tensed up, but only for a moment before realizing Dean’s intent and gripping him tight.

The closer connection only intensified the feeling, a nostalgic, graceful relaxant that he knew he’d felt before. He figured it out in no time at all; that mist that hugged his racing heart and made it stop to sing was from Castiel’s grace. He could remember feeling it whenever Castiel had healed him in the past, a quick but lingering rush of internal peace that seemed so miniscule compared to what he felt now. The angel wasn’t holding back, using all of his dwindling grace he could muster to pull Dean out of his dark state and save him; kind of like what he’d done for Dean when they’d first “met” in Hell…

By the time Dean’s sluggish, sleepy brain had made that connection, he became aware of Castiel lifting their joined hands up, never breaking their bond for a second, and using his free arm to push the armrest between them up and out of the way. That arm then cautiously inched across the seats and towards the relaxing hunter, brushing lightly over his shoulder.

Snapping back to reality just long enough to ease his head up to properly look at Castiel, Dean saw many things. He saw the faintest ethereal blue glow of grace behind already blue eyes, and surrounding that was what he could only think to describe as an expression of adoration. He knew he’d seen that same look on Castiel’s face directed at him on many occasions before; how had he not noticed what it meant until now?

Hidden in the tightness of his lips and the angle of his eyebrows, Dean saw worry that refused to subside. The tense way Castiel held himself implied he was hesitating, asking silent permission for…something. Dean was damned if he could be bothered to figure out what it was in his blissed-out state.

Rather than waste time overthinking the intricacies of an adoring angel’s facial features, Dean opted to go with his gut and follow his drowsy instincts. Said instincts told him to lean over and lower himself into the curve of Castiel’s open arm, or at least as much of himself as his restrictive seatbelt would allow. Although visibly staggered by Dean’s actions, Castiel gently wrapped his arm tighter around the hunter, pulling him as close as he dared, only held back by memories of Dean’s past lectures on the topic of “personal space.”

Any fear of violating Dean’s valued personal space evaporated as Dean languidly nuzzled himself even closer, fitting perfectly against the angel as he settled into his side. Barely able to believe his vessel’s eyes, Castiel hugged his uncharacteristically cuddly friend nearer until the only thing holding him back was the belt tugging at his lower half. Castiel nudged himself closer to the junction of their seats to make up the difference and just held Dean, reassuring him, protecting him, and ensuring that whatever awful adversity had overtaken him earlier would not return. Neither of the pair loosened their intertwined hands, Castiel keeping his flow of grace as strong as he could and Dean mindlessly soaking up its effects.

As far as Dean was concerned, he was in heaven; although that wasn’t saying much seeing as he’d personally been to heaven and found it wasn’t quite all it was cracked up to be. In any case, he was in a happier state than he could recall himself being in for a long, long time. Castiel’s grace was like a lofty drug on his senses and brain, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Were it not for that seatbelt he may very well have flung himself at the angel to get closer, all regard for his aversion to affectionate contact long forgotten. Why hadn’t he ever done this before again? His grace-soaked mentality couldn’t even imagine that there had ever been a reason, not with how pleasant it was proving to be. The din of the engines was reduced to a distant hum of background noise, his awareness of his environment losing any importance it ever held as he all but forgot where he was. There was no rumbling, soaring airplane surrounding him, just grace and peace and _Castiel_.

Castiel couldn’t deny he was content to have Dean in his arms, an unfamiliar, oddly human feeling of attachment mingling with his protectiveness. He hadn’t expected his grace to so profoundly impact Dean the way it did, melting him into a clingy, partially conscious pile of huggable human. Dean’s eyes were half-lidded and fuzzy, filled with a calm Castiel hadn’t recalled ever seeing in them before. He was serene, as he had a right to be, Castiel decided. If all it took was prolonged contact with his grace to maintain Dean’s state, Castiel was beyond willing to hold on to him; in fact, upon further thought, he came to the conclusion that he may very well be unable to tear himself away.

Another definably human sentiment urged Castiel to run the fingers of his free hand through Dean’s hair, an action that hadn’t even consciously occurred to him by the time he performed it. Perhaps he should be troubled by how easily he caved in to these unfamiliar instincts, as surely all these human actions and feelings were an inevitable side effect of losing his grace; even so, Castiel couldn’t be sure, and he wasn’t at all averse to them or their effects, so why worry? Dean certainly wasn’t worried, though he was in no state to be, not anymore. Affection swelled somewhere in Castiel’s grace as it idly continued its work.

“You’re safe now, Dean,” Castiel assured, simply because it felt right to say as much out loud. “Your sudden violent affliction and aviophobia will bring you no more harm.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Dean absently hummed in agreement, his eyes shuttering.

Unsure that Dean had heard or registered Castiel’s words of comfort, the angel spoke up again. “You appear to be falling into a state of tiredness. Are you going to-”

“Jus’ shut up an’ cuddle, Cas.”

Castiel did “shut up” after that, content to follow Dean’s directions as the hunter slowly but surely began to doze off under the ministrations of his grace. He had gone entirely limp, only supported by his seat and Castiel’s extended arm and side. His hand had loosened as well, though it still held Castiel’s in a tangle of warm fingers and dim angelic light.

As his brain fell into the abyss of sleep, cradled in Castiel’s arms and coddled by his merciful grace, Dean mumbled out one last thing before he drifted into unconsciousness.

“Screw whoever thought crossing the street was a one-man job.” 

If he had been awake to witness it, Dean would have no doubt laughed for at least a full minute at the resulting look of utter confusion his statement put on Castiel’s face.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************

Uninterrupted sleep was a rarity for Dean. Considering his unusually traumatic experiences even for his harsh line of work, it was hard not to go any given night without a nightmare or bout of insomnia wreaking havoc on his fragile sleep schedule. So, when he awoke feeling swaddled and well-rested in both mind and body, he was pleased to say the very least.

What did not please him was the fact that someone was tenderly nudging him to wakefulness and ruining his ceremonial post-slumber lazing around. 

“Dean,” a gravelly voice whispered right into his ear, insistent but hesitant. “ _Dean._ ”

Annoyed by the disturbance, Dean groaned and buried his face further into the surface he rested on, still only halfway out of his dreams and unwilling to leave them behind. Besides, whatever he was laying on was just about perfect, warm and soft but buzzing with a thin layer of static energy. What would that make it, like, an electric blanket or something? Nah, it couldn’t be, the material was too similar to…clothing? It was identical to what Dean would expect of a business suit, or an overcoat.

Or…a trench coat.

Dean’s eyes shot open as he promptly unburied himself from the coat’s folds and found himself face-to-face with Castiel and the reality that he was presently clinging to the angel like a parasitic vine on a tree trunk. The shock of the situation didn’t really hit Dean full-on until Castiel smiled warmly down at him with an expression Dean somehow knew without a doubt was one of adoration.

“Good, you’ve awoken,” Castiel sighed out, oblivious to Dean’s reaction. “I apologize, I didn’t want to wake you; you were enjoying a rather peaceful slumber.”

Words failed Dean in that moment. All he managed to choke out of his suddenly clogged throat was, “Whuh?”

“I woke you because the airplane has landed. Specifically, it landed a few minutes ago.”

Oh, right. Dean had been on an airplane. A scan of his surroundings did in fact reveal that he was aboard an airplane, with rows of blue seats cramped into the cylindrical white cabin. Other passengers had already taken to the aisles, retrieving their luggage and shifting about in line as their procession moved at a slug’s pace towards the gate. One glance out the window behind his travelling companion proved that they were on the ground, solid concrete spanning across the airfield and neon-clad airport employees scurrying about below. Somehow, despite his “aviophobia,” he had completely forgotten that he was on an airplane and slept soundly through an entire flight, and that was nothing short of a miracle.

As that realization dawned in his mind many other things occurred to him, such as the relief of his air travelling ordeal being over, foggy memories of some bizarre running theme of crosswalks, noticing that he was still instinctively hugging Castiel like a baby koala, and most worrying of all that he didn’t feel terribly inclined to let go.

“My ‘cuddling’ as you put it seems to have helped immensely with your aviophobia,” Castiel observed, apparently just as tentative to let go of Dean.

Dean sputtered as he at last managed to speak complete words. “Put what? Said who? I-I didn’t say anything about…cuddling.”

Cue Castiel’s classic head tilt maneuver. “I clearly recall that you did. Although the clarity of your memories prior to falling asleep may have been compromised by your dreamy state.”

“Dreamy…what?”

Finally feeling awake full and proper, Dean forced himself to pull away from Castiel’s inviting warmth, feeling the loss of that distant buzz like it sucked out a portion of his vitality. Taking a hasty inventory of his most recent memories, he confirmed that there did seem to be a lot of gaps, or at least fuzzy, undecipherable bits and pieces that were more comprised of feelings and generalizations than anything concrete. Most of them were pleasant, which was by far better than the usual painful or negative themes he’d come to expect from his past encounters with amnesia. But amnesia didn’t feel at all like the right word to fit this particular experience.

Focusing was a challenge; whether due to the unclear nature of the recollections he was sifting through or the lingering effects of sleep, Dean didn’t know. He sought answers, explanations, anything that would present a logical account of how on earth he’d ended up curled up with Castiel in the back of an airplane.

He could remember staring intently at a chair (for…some reason…), then there was definitely the jarring experience of the plane taking off. What followed was an eruption of manifested anxiety usually reserved for Dean’s more private moments, and he found himself fidgeting with discomfort at realizing he’d fallen into that state in such a crowded public setting. Then he remembered Castiel taking his hand, then warmth travelling up his arm and then…

Everything beyond that was clouded over by a haze of fantasy, characterized by comfort, closeness, and an unquestioned assurance that he was safe. He caught a glimpse of something that might have been brief dialogue between him and Castiel, and certainly some unfocused images of what he couldn’t deny looked an awful lot like cuddling.

That familiar internal crisis bubbled up to the surface of Dean’s psyche again. Somehow in the heat of those moments following his panic, he’d thrown his stark macho, independent persona right out the sealed airplane window and participated in those simple physical affections he dreaded sharing with Castiel. Actually, what they’d just partaken in was well beyond _simple_ physical affections.

Who knew that basic comforting hand holding between friends could escalate so quickly?

“Cas…what _happened_ earlier?” Dean asked, forcing himself to meet his friend’s eyes.

“Some affliction befell you as the plane began to take off,” Castiel jumped right into explaining. “I couldn’t decipher what was happening, but you asked me to hold your hand so I did.”

When Castiel didn’t elaborate further, Dean gestured for him to continue. As obtuse to the nuances of human communication as the angel was, he of course didn’t understand, so Dean sighed and vocalized instead. “And then? How did we end up...like…” Dean paused to gesticulate at the space between their chairs where they’d laid together. “… _that?_ ”

There was a hint of timidity in the way Castiel cast his gaze downwards. All the same, he explained in an even voice, “I was deeply concerned by your condition, so I…used my grace to pacify you. I’d done this before on the previous flight to a lesser degree, but this time I was worried enough to significantly increase the dose I used. I found it to be considerably more effective than I’d anticipated. It may have softened your mental state somewhat.”

That had thrown Dean for a loop. “Back up. You used your grace?”

“Yes. For whatever reason, it resonated with you more strongly than I thought possible. The cause may be a deeper connection between us, though I’m unsure of its nature.”

The words “deeper connection” provoked Dean’s internal crisis, and he decided to overlook them for the time being if only to spare his reeling mind.

“From there, you became pliable and initiated further physical contact,” Castiel continued. “You seemed content to maintain closeness, so I reciprocated.”

That baffled Dean. He’d put _himself_ in that position with Castiel? He vigorously shook his head. “Why didn’t you…I dunno, stop me or something?!”

“It appeared to greatly improve your condition, and additionally I determined it would be beneficial to us both. I quite enjoyed it.”

Although the angel’s words had been casual, they held a weight to them, at least in Dean’s mind. They’d sounded like a downplayed confession, though knowing Castiel’s lackluster social skills Dean was sure that the angel hadn’t meant to convey them as such. No matter how it had been spoken, there was no mistaking the angel’s direct message: he’d enjoyed…Dean settled on labelling it “sharing space” with him. It was the most detached, unaffectionate phrasing he could think of to describe it.

“It’s odd,” Castiel muttered, absently thinking out loud. “Such close contact elicited from me some of the most human feelings I’ve ever felt. Is that a normal reaction?”

“I-I guess, I dunno,” Dean rambled, only half-listening as he struggled to process past the mental blue screen of death that had popped up in his brain. “Sharing space is a pretty human thing, so…”

Castiel hummed. “As an angel, I can’t be sure whether it is a side effect of my diminishing grace or not. Many of these feelings of attachment and affection are foreign to me, at least in terms of intensity and where they are directed.”

Just as Dean had managed to tediously restart his brain and reach its desktop to return back to his own thoughts, another poorly-timed blue screen of death popped up in his mind the second the word “affection” fell on his ears. Before he could even begin to overthink the hell out of that single word he’d tried so hard to avoid, he became aware of several people eyeing him as they shuffled past his row, some smirking and others watching in confusion at the snippets of the conversation they’d overheard. Dean could feel his face heat up.

“Listen Cas, j-just-” Dean exhaled. His nervousness was resurging, but it was of a very different kind and for a very different reason than before. “It’s fine, just save it.” He lowered his voice. “People are looking at us.”

“People have been looking at us for the whole flight, Dean,” Castiel informed him. “Our cuddling drew much attention from the other nearby passengers.”

“It _what?!_ ” Dean immediately regretted exclaiming that as loudly as he did. He heard the distinctive sound of a concealed snort from someone standing two rows ahead of them and felt his face catch on fire. This was quickly rising through the ranks to become one of the top five most embarrassing moments of Dean Winchester.

“The attention was all of a positive nature,” Castiel defended. “An attendant walked by and commented on how she’d noticed your aviophobia and how lucky you were to have someone like me. Though I prefer to be humble, I have to agree with her. I’m not sure that you could have endured the flight so well without me.”

Dean couldn’t believe this was happening. He could chalk it all up to bad luck, sure, but something told him that this was karma straight from Castiel’s father as retribution for affectionately defiling his oh-so-innocent son and taking his cuddle-virginity. It would figure that he’d bring on the wrath of God for something as dumb as cuddling- no, _sharing space_ with an angel.

“And just so that you’re aware, in the future I will be more than willing to assist you with afflictions in the same manner of closeness, whether through cuddling or hand holding,” Castiel happily concluded, an odd pride standing out in his voice. Immediately afterwards no less than four separate people standing in the molasses-paced line uttered “awws” of varying volumes.

Yup. This was officially the second most embarrassing moment of Dean Winchester, beaten only by that accident with the pond scum and chocolate syrup he’d sworn Sam to secrecy over.

Utterly defeated and resigned to his fate, Dean sank into his seat and mindlessly muttered, “Yeah, sure, whatever Cas.”

It took fifteen minutes for the plane to clear out enough so that Dean and Castiel could exit, and in those tedious minutes that dragged on and on, Castiel left Dean to his thoughts. This was unfortunate as the one thing Dean did not want to be left with at that time was his own thoughts, though talking to Castiel might not be much better considering the humiliation it’d brought him thus far. Nonetheless, his mind was active as a beehive, trying and largely failing against his broken will to process and explore what all had transpired.

Left to stew in his own embarrassment, Dean was helpless to every insinuation, analysis, and dreaded emotion brought forward by his beehive brain, each little pollen-clad insect bringing him a new morsel of information to be turned to honey and stored in his honeycomb synapses. Yes, the beehive analogy was more on the ridiculous side, but Dean had to do something to try to make the process more bearable. Besides, something told him that Castiel would enjoy such a parallel with his favorite insectoid creatures.

And there was the inescapable facet of his thoughts that kept cropping up time and time again: Castiel himself. His recurrence in his frantic buzzing thoughts wasn’t helped by the fact that he was sitting inches away in the seat to his left, quietly observing the airport’s operations through his window. Castiel had always had a strong presence wherever he went, but somehow he seemed even more obtrusive than normal now.

Castiel’s noticeability was made most obvious when his brain inevitably reached the final comment the angel had made since he silenced himself, that being that he was willing to share his space with Dean again, meaning that this whole mess had a genuine chance of happening all over again; an unlikely chance, but a chance all the same, and that was enough.

By then they had successfully made it off the plane and into the airport where Sam was waiting anxiously for them, hurrying them along with reminders that they had a demon to catch and limited time to do so. Even through their rush to get outside and start the hunt, that thought of Castiel’s closing statement dominated Dean’s mind. Dean’s gut reaction to that was fear, but the thought of actually repeating his intimate experience with Castiel brought up something more unexpected and more frightful by a thousand-fold.

Under all his tightly-wound layers of repression, the thought sparked something in his chest that was the complete opposite of the black hole he’d felt while panicking earlier. Rather than suctioning up all space in his rattling rib cage and forming a void, this spark pushed outwards, filling and overflowing his chest cavity with too much of…something. Something he very well recognized for what it was but refused to dignify with a name. Something warm and mushy and entirely worthy of repressing in Dean’s book.

Yet the more he looked at Castiel, the more adoring looks he began to notice from the angel, and the more he thought about Castiel’s promise regarding repeating their “sharing space” experience, the more unruly and impossible the something became, bouncing around and refusing to sit quietly.

At the hunt’s start, Dean reached for the salt in his duffel and felt a thrilling electric shock travel up his arm as Castiel accidentally brushed his hand against Dean’s in the process. The hunter grimaced. What had he gotten himself into? He wasn’t entirely sure, but he did know that it frightened him more than any airplane could ever hope to.

So much for being fearless.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a particularly rough flying experience during a vacation of mine. For some reason I found myself only able to work on this successfully when I was away from home on a trip somewhere. I guess that has something to do with the theme of travelling in the story...anyways, because of that, it took a frustratingly long time to complete, but I'm glad I finally reached the conclusion of this indulgent ball of floof.
> 
> I'm seriously considering writing a sequel to this because my need for Destiel cuddling fluff is never fulfilled. 
> 
> This is my first time posting here, so please be gentle, but feedback is appreciated.


End file.
